Ah, Christmas. It’s the one time of year when we all pretend that the next 12 months will somehow be different, better, and filled with gym memberships that don’t gather dust. But let’s be honest—it never is. Every year, it’s the same chaotic pantomime.

Mothers, chefs, and anyone else in charge of the kitchen are tearing around like caffeinated squirrels, trying to stop the turkey from turning into shoe leather while keeping the stuffing moist enough to please a Michelin Star inspector. And in the modern world, this isn’t enough. No, they’ve also got to make sure the food looks good enough to break the internet, or specifically Instagram, because nothing says “Christmas spirit” like stressing about whether 7 billion people around the world like the look of your roast potatoes.

Meanwhile, in supermarkets, it’s as if the apocalypse is nigh. Trolleys groan under mountains of food because, apparently, once Boxing Day hits, the shops will close forever. This is despite the fact that we’ve all been told to watch our spending because the cost-of-living crisis lurks around the corner or right in front of our faces, ready to mug us. Inflation? High interest rates? No one has time for that during Christmas.

As for me? I’ve stockpiled enough alcohol to host a Viking funeral, yet somehow still feel the need to grab a bottle of something potent enough to tranquilise Santa’s entire reindeer team. Besides, after the year I’ve had, I feel I deserve it.

Retailers want us back in their shops, but let’s face it: most of us have embraced the joy of online shopping for our Christmas presents. Except it’s not joyful, is it? And there is definitely no fun. That is because it’s a minefield of delivery delays, missing parcels, and panic-buying, or organising backup gifts when you realise your nephew might not get his LEGO on time.

Now, while all this is happening, let’s spare a thought for Santa. Yes, the big round man himself, who we know as Mr Big C. You might think he’s got it easy, working one day a year, but trust me, his December 24th makes Black Friday look like a yoga retreat.

And frankly, big Mr Big C is quite incredible, amazing and, well, epic.

Now, being a numbers man (I see numbers even when drunk, except they seem to double up), the numbers (see what I did there?) are mind-boggling.

He’s got to visit roughly 800 million Christian kids in one night. That’s 266 million households, assuming the average family has three kids. Except I am not sure that is true because he tends to visit non-Christian homes, too. I mean, he has not missed my chimney for 18 years, and I classified my religion officially on the consensus as a ‘Jedi.’

But I digress. He’s got just 32 hours to do it, thanks to some clever witchcraft trickery that says travelling east-to-west gives him an additional 8 hours. Anyway, to pull this off, he’s got to travel at 3,000 kilometres per second. That’s just a bit faster than my Aston Martin on a good day—and I am assuming it’s much less comfortable.

And the logistics? Forget it. No toilet breaks, no scrolling through Tinder, and no time to argue with Greta Thunberg about his carbon footprint either.

I do wonder if Greta Thunberg has written to Mr Big C at the North Pole enquiring about the effect farting reindeer have on climate change or whether he has recently been in the company of Elon Musk and been upgraded to an Electric Sleigh. But then again, Elon has been a bit busy with a guy called Trump and still working out what to do with X. So, I guess farting reindeer for another year will have to do.

Speaking of which, I tried calculating the CO2 emissions from his reindeer and their, er, gaseous contributions to the planet. My calculator exploded. And then I had a brainwave and decided to ask Alexa. It turns out that Alexa is useless because she told me she doesn’t sell farts.

Then there’s the food and alcohol. Every household with a misguided belief of being kind will leave him a mince pie and a glass of sherry. With 150 calories per pie, he’s consuming around 40 billion calories in one night. And the alcohol? Over 266 million units. Forget the sleigh; it’s a miracle he doesn’t crash into the International Space Station. Or Mars.

The gifts aren’t cheap, either. Due to the cost-of-living crisis, presents are expensive. It has been calculated (not by Useless Alexa) that the average child will get approximately $750 worth of presents this year. This means that Santa is looking at a cash outflow of $600 billion, so he will need a lot of luck explaining that to a kind and sympathetic bank manager (do they exist anymore?) in order to get an overdraft. On the other hand, he obviously has a good accountant to prepare his cash flow and projections to get that overdraft approved.

And I am not sure how he gets around the IP lawyers at Sony or Mattel because all the toys are branded, which means Mr Big C’s elves probably did not make them, and the lawyers will be all over him and will sue the furry pants off him for bypassing trademark law.

And let’s not forget that $750 worth of toys are heavy. Approx. 3.2M tons heavy when you have 800 million of them. This then requires 36,000,000 farting reindeer to pull Mr Big C’s wrap-drive sleigh. And remember, this is all happening at 3,000km per second. Now you know why my calculator exploded.

But here’s the kicker: all of this effort—the consumption of 40m calories of pies, the presents, the binge drinking together with borderline-illegal sleigh speeds—would end in disaster anyway. If Santa and his 36 million farting reindeer tried to re-enter Earth’s atmosphere, the resulting explosion (due to the farts) would vaporise the planet in a nuclear-type explosion.

Told you he was epic.

So, here’s my advice:

1. Stop worrying.

2. If the turkey’s a bit dry, slather it in gravy.

3. If the presents arrive late, blame the postal service.

And if your relatives annoy you, pour yourself a large drink and remind yourself it’s only once a year.

Because, in the end, Christmas isn’t about perfection. It’s not how many likes your roast potatoes got. It’s about being with the people you love—arguing, laughing, playing games, and making memories. And trust me, those are the things you’ll remember when it comes to your dying days.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Here’s to a fantastic New Year. I’ll see you in 2025, bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and ready to face another 12 months of chaos. Cheers!

Please note the office will officially close on December 20th, 2024, and reopen on January 6th 2025. If your matter is urgent, contact Hitesh at hitesh@wowadvisors.com.au or Ros@wowadvisors.com.au or call 07 3161 9548.